wounded by want

February 01, 2009 Candace Morris 3 Comments

joel and i rode home in silence sunday night, both heavy with want. i can taste the thick precipitation of change in the air these days and though i find it an exhilarating part of life, it's still a bit unsettling, sad, and often too big to swallow.

and then there are things that cannot change fast enough. i want so many things out of this life and perhaps it's my tenancy towards indulgence in self-pity, but i feel like they are being dangled in front of me like a carrot and are always just out of reach. i grew up believing that my heart's desires were placed divinely and with great purpose, and yet it seems that i lack resource and opportunity to make those seemingly god-given desires actualize. i stand before my dreams with hope, ambition, capability - but it seems each direction is cyclical and brings me back to right here.

our lives are on the cusp.
i feel the breeze at our backs; our sails poised to catch it.

and yet we remain.

what i wouldn't give to see joel teaching and fulfilled again.
what i wouldn't give to be out of debt.
what i wouldn't give to go back to school.
what i wouldn't give to have a baby and be able to support her.
what i wouldn't give to keep my family together.
what i wouldn't give to bring grandma back and have grandpa healed.
what i wouldn't give to be better at saving.
what i wouldn't give to quit both our jobs tomorrow.
what i wouldn't give for a room of my own.
what i wouldn't give for booklings.

and all of this sacrifice of desire, all of this want - it hurts in the best way. it wounds my spirit and encourages me to fight harder, to see with more perspective, to hope audaciously.

winds of change,
breath your benevolent sirocco breeze into our ready banner.
lift it from its dejected despondency


though it hurts, this wanting, i relish in the tangible good: cashmere pj pants and whiskey, a bowl of rocky road in a scalding bath, a quiet nap by dad's fireplace, an endearing touch by an animal (parents got a new puppy this week), a long voicemail from a friend, a beautiful text from a sister, the solitude of the night sky, a random old chair in my laundry room, a long talk with another sister, the simple pleasure of housework, a decadent brunch with a dear friend. these all amalgamate to bring me solace.

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and for you, for this, for the pain and wounds,
i am in awe.

"But your solitude will be a support and a home for you,
even in the midst of very unfamiliar circumstances,
and from it you will find all your paths."


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